Stars and the Moon
by DaisyGreen215
Summary: I'll give you days full of dreams'...Carter, Abby, and the dance they do. CHAPTER 6 FINALLY UP!
1. Hemorrhage

Disclaimer: "They're not mine, but they're not yours either, so back off, biatches." (You can thank Andrea for that.) Or, you know, I don't own 'em. Way to burst my bubble.

The 'Brady Bunch' thing is from the movie _Reality Bites_. The song used is 'Hemorrhage' by Fuel. 

A/N: Big thanks to Alex for the reading. Thanks, bud - play up! xx

This one's actually not a standalone or a challenge. For some reason, I've decided to branch out; I've got more to come, and I promise it will get better, both in subject and hopefully in quality. Also, I love Susan, I really do, so please don't hate me. And please review. They make my day.

Summary: Spoilers through 'Get Carter' of s10.if you've seen it, you're fine. The rest is all products of my sleep-deprived mind.

CHAPTER 1: HEMORRHAGE

_"Memories are just where you laid them,_

_dragging__ the waters 'til the depths give up their dead._

_What did you expect to find?  
Was it something you left behind?"_

*~*~*

Her day had started off badly - she'd overslept and missed the El and had immediately incurred the wrath of Weaver upon arriving half an hour late. 

Monday 3, Abby Lockhart 0. This did not bode well for the rest of the day.

She's hurrying through the hall, dodging patients and staff alike, desperate to get to the lounge for a cup of coffee, when she runs smack into Susan, coming out of the ladies' room.

She looks up, prepared to apologize and make a caffeine deprivation wise-crack, when she sees the look on her friend's face.

Red eyes. Tear-stained cheeks. Smudged make-up.

"What's wrong?" she questions, worrying about what the answer will reveal. Something wrong with Little Susie? Chloe on drugs again? Something happened with Chuck? The possibilities are eerily familiar, and suddenly something comes to her mind, something so horrible she hates to say it aloud. As she opens her mouth to ask, Susan beats her to the point.

"The baby."

*~*~*

_"Don't you remember anything I said, when I said,_

_Don't fall away and leave me to myself._

_Don't fall away and leave love bleeding in my hands, in my hands again."_

*~*~*

She's managed to get Susan into the Exam 1, where the blinds have been tightly shut and the door locked. She's finishing an ultrasound, and is trying to figure out how to tell her best friend that it's over.

How do you do it, she wonders. What words do you use to tell someone that despite the best laid plans, no pun intended, Mother Nature had other ideas? That some God or higher power or whatever the hell was out there simply felt it best not to see this pregnancy through? 

The words are unnecessary, and she hears a sob from behind her. She turns, sees Susan's face crumble, and reaches out, catching her as she collapses in a fit of tears.

"Why?...What did I do wrong? Everything was going so well."

And all she can do is hold her friend, whispering words of what she hopes are comfort, and share in the sorrow.

*~*~*

_"She cries her life is like_

_some__ movie in black and white._

_Dead actors faking lines, over and over and over again she cries."_

*~*~*

An hour later, they've moved to the ambulance bay, where she's waiting with Susan for Chuck to come to take her home. She always worries, but now she worries for them, knowing what awaits them there - nothing but more pain and an empty apartment, dreams of what could have been and what almost was. And she wishes more than anything that her friend didn't have to go through it.

She knows Susan is making valiant attempts to change the subject, to keep her mind anywhere but on the cramps moving through her body, the memory of finding the blood, the deafening silence of the room as Abby had run the ultrasound. They're telling jokes, terrible jokes, missing the puns, not able to concentrate on the humor, just desperate to think of something else, and entirely unable to do so.

Susan's half laughing, half crying at this point, and her words come out in a choked mixture of tears and a rueful chuckle, "You know what my guilty pleasure was when I was a teenager?"

"Sex in sheds?"

She snorts, closer to a real laugh this time, and Abby is relieved that she's able to do this. "Well, obviously. But other than that.I used to watch - and don't you ever tease me about this - reruns of _The Brady Bunch_. It's just.everything was so easy, you know? The problems weren't that big or life-altering, and at the end of the half-hour, everything was magically.okay again."

The tears have started again, harder this time, and they both know all attempts at ignoring reality have been futile. Abby reaches out with a tissue and wipes them away as Susan continues.

"And sometimes.I just want to know why life can't be like that, you know?"  She looks up at Abby, questioning, and Abby desperately wishes that life had been kinder to her friend, that she could somehow go back and fix all of Fate's wrongs and make it all better, that she could have prevented this somehow. 

But instead, she can only give a sad smile, her own faced etched with regrets, as she thinks about Susan and herself, what they've both lost, and when she replies, it's in a voice weighted with deep sadness, "Well.because Mr. Brady died of AIDS."

Susan nods, looking down at her lap, and begins to cry harder. Abby reaches for her friend, holds her close, lets Susan weep for the child she lost, for the life she wanted. And she disregards her own grief for the time being, putting it on a shelf with other emotions and thoughts better left untouched: her fear of being alone for the rest of her life, her lost childhood, the abortion, Carter and the way things ended between them. She'll deal with them later, perhaps; but for now, she takes solace in the knowledge that she can help Susan now; that even if she can't make the pain stop, she can help lessen it in some way. And she'll settle for this.

*~*~*

_"And I watched as you turned away._

_You don't remember, but I do."_

*~*~*

She's sitting in a chair on the roof when she hears the door slam. She knows it's him right away, knew he'd find her the moment she saw him in the ambulance bay an hour earlier, watching her help Chuck ease Susan into his car to go home. She's both grateful and annoyed by this predictability - she finds comfort in his presence, but hates that she - _they_ - weren't enough for him, that it took the wilds of Africa and an easy-bake family for him to be 'found.' 

"Hey." He's sinking into the chair next to her, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"Carter," she acknowledges his presence, but chooses to continue to look out over the Chicago skyline. The afternoon is sunny, breezy and cool, and she thinks to herself that it has no right to be such a beautiful day when her best friend is hurting so badly.

He clears his throat, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees him rubbing the back of his neck before hunching over, resting his elbows on his knees before speaking again.

"Losing a child.it's terrible."

She knows he's thinking of Kem, of the son that wasn't really his, the family he almost had. She finds herself growing angry at his assumption that he knows what Susan is going through, that he knows what it feels like to actually _lose_ a child, _your_ child. But then she remembers his brother, and that he doesn't know about her abortion, that she never told him about that day - the beginning of the end of both her marriage and her hopes for a clean slate.

So she fights back her anger, bottles it up, puts it away, to be channeled into energy for work later. 

He's continuing, "It's so hard."

She means to half-agree, to give a noncommittal 'Must be,' to reveal nothing, then to get up and leave before anything can surface. But what comes out before she can stop herself is a hoarse reply altogether different from what she'd planned.

"I know."

Startled at herself, furious at her lack of control, she looks straight ahead, willing him not to press it, to have not heard her slip, to run far away, because she's not sure she can face the realities of the past. Not today.

But, of course, this is not the case, and she can feel his eyes on her.

"Abby?"

This is not how she'd wanted to tell him, and she's wary to let the conversation go any further. After all, she asks herself, what exactly has he done in the past few months to earn her trust? During his time with Kem, they'd managed to establish a civil understanding - acquaintances, perhaps - and in the months since she'd left, they've moved back towards being cautious friends. But the air surrounding them was always thick with the unsaid, and she knows it's only a matter of time before something sends it all crashing down. And she knows that she can't deal with that right now, that she's just gotten her life back on track as it is, and after all that's transpired between them, she's not yet ready to trust him with something this big. 

So she shakes her head, looks down for a moment, and mutters, "Not now."

She senses his reluctance to let this go, knows he has questions and that she's just created a whole new mess for them to deal with, and nearly sighs with relief when, after a long beat, he slowly nods. Still, she's not sure if this is a good thing or not - remembers how much she hated his pushing in the past, but how it was, at the very least, a sign that he cared on some deeper level. And now that it's gone, she's both grateful and disappointed. 

He stands to leave, hands jammed in the pockets of his lab coat. He pauses, turns towards her, and she has to force herself not to look up at him.

"If you ever need to talk, Abby." he trails off, obviously unsure of how to continue.

His shadow covers her, casting her in the dark, as he worriedly watches her, unsure as to why Susan's miscarriage is having such a profound effect on her, wondering what more than her friend's pain brought her up here. 

And despite the overwhelming hurt and anger, she finds that she wants to tell him, to make him understand, thinks that it might help him better comprehend her insecurities and reluctance to let down her defenses. Still, she maintains that this is not the time or place in their relationship, so she nods, looks up, and gives him what she knows must be a weak smile.

"I know."

He nods, takes what he can get, and then he's gone, and she's left with silence to keep her company as she goes back to watching the sky.

*~*~*

_"Don't fall away and leave me to myself._

_Don't fall away and leave love bleeding in my hands, in my hands again."_

**************

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	2. Love's Recovery

Disclaimer: "They're not mine, but they're not yours either, so back off, biatches." (You can thank Andrea for that.) Or, you know, I don't own 'em. Way to burst my bubble.

The song used is 'Love's Recovery' by the Indigo Girls.

A/N: Sorry for the delay – so much to do, and not enough time in which to do it. Here's chapter two…mostly Abby's thoughts, so not much real action, but it lays the foundation for the action in the next few chapters (which hopefully won't be as long in coming).

 Big thanks to Alex for her "encouragement" and reading. Thanks, babe – you rock my world.

CHAPTER 2: LOVE'S RECOVERY

_"During the time of which I speak, it was hard to turn the other cheek_

_to the blows of insecurity._

_Feeding the cancer of my intellect, the blood of love, soon neglected,_

_lay dying in the strength of its impurity…"_

*~*~*

Nights off have become a double-edged sword.

Granted, she is always grateful for time away from work, from the screaming and complaining of patients, the harsh flourescent lights of the ER, the frustrations of her co-workers. The whole place seems to have a sense of irritability.

Still, this leaves her home alone, sitting in the dark with little but her own ideas to occupy her time. And this means that thoughts better left alone occasionally float to the surface of her mind, frightening her with their presence, reminding her of their existence, and she has to fight to regain control.

She always does. 

Always has.

But in the weeks since Susan's miscarriage and her run-in with Carter on the roof, she's found it harder and harder to get rid of the pesky thoughts, to go on pretending that nothing has happened. And what makes her even more nervous, even more uncomfortable in her own mind, is the rush of emotions that comes with those thoughts – the flood that's become all-too familiar lately, haunting her as she tries to sleep, blocking her escape from reality.

And it infuriates her.

Particularly tonight. She's just come off of a double shift, and she's tired. Tired in that bone-weary, even-her-hair-hurts sort of way; she'd arrived home wanting little more than a hot bath and a soft pillow. And yet for the past hour and a half, according to her alarm clock, she's been lying in bed, unable to sleep, her mind still busily plotting ways to further complicate her life.

And without meaning to, even though she knows that she desperately doesn't want to go here, she finds herself wondering when her life became such an unholy mess.

Dammit.

*~*~*

_"There I am in younger days, star-gazing,_

_painting picture perfect maps of how my life and love would be,_

_not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection._

_My compass, faith in love's perfection – _

_I missed ten million miles of road I should have seen…"_

*~*~*

She'd spent nearly an hour working to save a little boy tonight, a three-year old abuse victim whose mother had pushed him down the stairs, and despite her best efforts, she'd lost him. She winces as she remembers Luka's entirely innocent parting words, called over his shoulder as he'd left the room, completely oblivious to the blow he'd just delivered:

_"I'll never understand how anyone could not want their child…"_

Ouch.

Of course, he'd never been married to Richard. Or been an alcoholic. Or been the product of a broken household, privy from childhood – if it could be called that – to the bipolar escapades of Maggie, and now Eric. 

So really, he had no idea. None whatsoever. 

Except…it wasn't a matter of not _wanting_. Because God knows she'd wanted it. Wanted it more than almost anything. The very thought of the baby growing inside her, the idea of being a mother had thrilled her. She remembers it with startling clarity, as if she were watching someone else playing the role of herself – sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding the test, smiling. The picture of a happy family of three creeping into her vision, from the dark recesses of her mind where she usually  kept it hidden, labeled 'unlikely.'

And then the terror of reality had set in. The cheating husband, the crazy mother, the drinking.

Thus, the secret appointment. The abortion. And more drinking.

Looking back, she finds that the actual process was frighteningly simple, quick.

Easy.

The easiest part of the whole fucking thing.

She's suffered, to be sure, even beyond the simple denial of what she wanted. She's made herself pay for her decision every day of every year that's passed. She closed herself off even more, worked in OB, threw herself into what she saw as her penance, her private act of contrition.

She knows she made the right decision – her belief in this has never wavered, that it wouldn't have been fair to anyone, especially not the baby. She knows this, is secure in this, holds firm in her belief of the right to such an option. 

But that knowledge doesn't stop the wisps of what-might-have-beens that sometimes wander through her thoughts, the wistful feeling that hits the pit of her stomach when she sees mothers with their children, families on outings, newborns.

And it doesn't make the memories any less painful, doesn't numb the sting of wishing, doesn't lessen the choking in her throat as she hides from herself.

*~*~*

_"Rain-soaked and voice choked, like silent screaming in a dream,_

_I search for our absolute distinction._

_Not content to bow and bend_

_to the whims of culture that swoop like vultures._

_Eating us away, eating us away,_

_eating us away to our extinction…"_

*~*~*

She curls up on the far side of the bed, and she bites her lip at the sudden realization that this was once his side, and cringes further when she recalls how often she's slept here since 'their' bed became 'hers' once again.

He's been occupying her mind more and more lately, something she is loathe to admit.

For the most part, they've been working different shifts, their interactions limited to a quick greeting in passing as she comes off and he comes on, or vice versa. She thinks that this is probably a Good Thing, because she doesn't want to deal with the repercutions of her slip on the roof, though she knows that sooner or later, she'll have to. 

And for once, she's not wishing for the latter, because she's tired, so very tired, of the unsaid eating away at her.

She remembers the scene, mostly their parting (why is it, she wonders idly, that her focus is always on his leaving?), the familiar tone in his voice. Concern, caring. And she's not sure what to make of it.

_"If you ever need to talk, Abby…"_ She's glad he hadn't continued, because in that instant, she'd thought of so many ways in which to fight his possible choice of words:

_'Just let me know'…_Yes, now that you have time again. Now that the latest 'wife and kids' dream is gone – well, hey, Abby, what's up? 

_'I'll be glad to listen'..._And pass judgment and try to fix everything that isn't broken, just to make it up to your standards.

_'I'm here for you'…_Uh huh, and where were you all those months ago, Carter? You know, after you promised that you weren't going anywhere?__

Bullshit. 

She's startled at herself, at the degree of the anger that swells within her. She'd thought she had moved beyond this point, had exhausted her ample rage at him long ago. She's been working overtime at moving on from this.

Though, if she is honest with herself, she knows that there is no way of entirely moving on. That their lives had, at some point, become so inextricably entangled with each other that there's no chance for true separation. Even if it's just in her mind, she knows she will always be surrounded by him – he's ingrained in her. And although something tells her that she's not alone in this, that he's probably feeling the same way, she is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with regrets, drowning in shattered hopes, littered with pieces of her broken heart.

And it hurts; it hurts so badly that sometimes she feels as though she can't breathe. She dreams of what she's lost, cries in the dark over what could have been, should have been. She divides the blame between them, cuts herself to the quick with her share as she remembers.****

She's angry with him, fascinated by the intricate complexities of their relationship, unnerved by their incredible ability to hurt each other. But mostly, she misses him.

*~*~*

_"Oh, how I wish I were a trinity, so if I lost a part of me,_

_I'd still have two of the same to live._

_But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal;  as specks of dust, we're universal._

_To let this love survive would be the greatest gift we could give…"_

*~*~*

She's not sure why she's doing this – not now, at least. Surely his offer to talk doesn't extend to these early hours of the morning, when he's bound to be exhausted from work. Certainly she's the last person he'll want to deal with right now.

And yet something tells her that this might be okay, that he won't really mind, and that maybe she owes this to herself. And to him.

To them.

As she dials, she recalls how he used to push her to talk, how she resisted, terrified of what he might see, or what might come pouring out of her mouth. What might happen if she let herself go.

As it rings, she finds it sadly ironic that it took losing him to make her willing to open up.

And as his sleep-laden voice answers, she feels a fleeting moment of panic rise in her chest, an urge to slam the phone down and return to bed, and push these thoughts aside, yet again, for another day.

"Abby?"

How did he know, she wonders. Had he acquired caller ID? Or  was it something more, some remaining trace of what had been?

And she makes a mental note to ask him about this someday, once the more basic things are put right between them again. Because they will be – this she promises herself. 

"I need to talk."

*~*~*

_"Tell all the friends who think they're so together_

_that these are ghosts and mirages, these thoughts of fairer weather._

_Though it's storming out, I feel safe within the arms of love's discovery…" _

**************

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	3. And So It Goes

Disclaimer: "They're not mine, but they're not yours either, so back off, biatches." (You can thank Andrea for that.) Or, you know, I don't own 'em. Way to burst my bubble.

The song used is 'And So It Goes' by Billy Joel.

The idea of being 'royally pissed' was (initially inadvertently) borrowed from my favorite book, _Primary Colors_, by Joe Klein.

A/N: So that whole 'getting the chapter out sooner' thing clearly didn't work. Sorry about that. In an effort to avoid taking the blame, it was all because of school, work, various maladies, etc etc etc…oh, and a whopping case of writer's block. I owe getting through that to the fabulous and talented BROOKESTAR. Thanks for the awesome belated review – you really pulled me out of my funk, so it's definitely because of you that this got written at all.

Translation: If you hate it, it's all her fault. ;)

Also, I suck at writing dialogue, so let me just apologize in advance. And the site was being weird when I tried uploading this, so the formatting might be a little off...sorry.

And please let me know what you guys think – in-depth reviews are great because they give me ideas of what to work on (you know, in case I ever manage to churn out chapters in a timely fashion or something). But I digress…

CHAPTER 3: AND SO IT GOES

_**"In every heart, there is a room,  
a sanctuary safe and strong  
to heal the wounds from lovers past  
until a new one comes along.."**__**  
**_

She is sitting on the couch, hunched over, eyes closed, when she hears the knock. She finds herself surprisingly wistful as she moves to answer it, remembering the days when he came and went as he pleased, and how mostly what had pleased him was staying there with her. He'd always said 'Home is where the heart is.' And she'd smiled and maybe rolled her eyes out of habit.

She'd never caught the implication behind those words until he was gone, and her small apartment was no longer home or, she figured, where his heart was.

Still, she is grateful to open the door and to see his kind – albeit worried – face. She smiles inwardly at his disheveled appearance – he'd clearly come as soon as they'd hung up, and she absentmindedly reaches up to smooth his tousled hair.

She stops, catching herself as her hand is about to touch him, remembering that she no longer has the right to touch him in such a comfortable, possessive way.

He's not hers anymore.

She knows this – has known since he'd left her standing in the ambulance bay that afternoon – but it still takes her by surprise, makes her breath catch in her throat as she tries to ignore the familiar stinging behind her eyes. She won't cry in front of him, can't allow it. She's working on things, taking baby steps, and calling him, admitting that she needs to talk – well, that was a pretty big leap for her. She doesn't want to push her luck.

Because really, luck hasn't exactly been a close companion in her life. Kept at bay, she supposes, by Loneliness and Fear, and perhaps by Stubbornness making frequent visits.

She understands. It's a tough crowd, after all.

_**"I spoke to you in cautious tones.  
You answered me with no pretense.  
And still I feel I said too much.  
My silence is my self defense…"  
**  
_

Their backs against the armrests, they face each other from opposite ends of the couch – the symbolism of this is not lost on her. They've been talking idly, chit chat: the weather, patients, Weaver's new cane.

Clearly, the stuff which constitutes earth-shattering, worth-getting-out-of-bed-at-ungodly-times-of-the-morning exchanges.

She knows he wants to ask what's going on, why she called him at this hour, and of course, what she needed to talk about so badly that it couldn't wait until they were, say, well-rested, or maybe not so over-worked and over-stressed.

Good luck there.

And while she realizes that she at least owes him this – he had rushed over, still in sweats and the t-shirt she recognizes as his favorite one to sleep in – well, she doesn't know where to begin. _How do you do it_, she muses.

How do you go about explaining that you don't even want your own life anymore? That you feel like you're drowning and you've been trying to keep treading water to stay afloat, but at this point, the current's so strong and the pull is so forceful, you realize it might just be easier to stop?

How do you tell someone that you can't seem to remember how to be happy on your own, and that you're starting to wonder if you'd ever really mastered such a skill in the first place? That you have this mountain of regrets, a stack of worries, and an overflowing inbox of issues marked 'to be dealt with'?

So to speak, of course.

She feels overwhelmed all of a sudden, as if her emotions have come to a final boil, and she's not sure she can hold on much longer. She wants to tell him to forget about it, that she's sorry to have bothered him but really, she's fine. Truly, just peachy.

But before she can open her mouth to tell him this last bit, she feels his hand on hers, and looks up to see he's moved closer to her, and that his face is etched with a look she's never quite seen before. Warm and inviting and compassionate, like the night her brother was arrested, only with a hint of something more.

Comprehension strikes her, filling her with fear, tinged with an unusual sense of relief: he knows.

And she understands that he knows what it's like and how it feels – to essentially have nothing left to lose – because he's been there himself.

"Talk to me…"

_**"And every time I've held a rose,  
it seems I only felt the thorns.  
And so it goes, and so it goes,  
and so will you soon, I suppose…"  
**  
_

She is struggling.

She knows what she wants to tell him, but somehow can't find the words. She wants to apologize for all she has done to him, and at the same time, wants to use that same breath to scream at him for hurting her, for making promises he wasn't prepared to keep.

_"I'm not going anywhere."_

Ha. Good one, Carter.

She feels his fingers on her cheek, and is horrified to realize that she is crying, that those odd little choking noises weren't coming from the air conditioning, as she'd previously thought, but from her own throat.

_Shit_.

"Don't," she snaps, swiping at his hand, which has begun to catch her tears. She fights to hold them back, but dammit, they won't stop. She stands, desperate to put distance between them.

_This is not happening_.

Not even when Eric was missing or when Maggie overdosed on sleeping pills had she let him see her cry, and she didn't want to lose that record now.

"Abby…it's okay…"

"NO, Carter, it's not okay. NOTHING is okay. And you…you don't…" she's choking on her own tears now, fighting for breath, her words tumbling out faster than she can register them— "You don't get to tell me that anymore."

He looks startled, confused, but she keeps going, like pouring salt on a wound, picking at a scab. Time to air out the emotions; do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid, maybe it won't hurt as much.

"You lost that right when you left…when you left me…"

"What, for Africa? To go help people? Come on…" He's rising to face her, indignant, and this only fuels her release of all those long months of pent-up worry, anger, and lost hopes.

"For HER!" It explodes out of her, and she sees his eyes grow wide, pained, like she'd slapped him. This was an area neither had dared to go, and as she feels the wetness on her cheeks, she knows why. And still, can't stop – she's on a roll now, almost manic in her anger, like her mother, loose and fierce, royally pissed and rising to the occasion.

"You sat there—" jabbing her finger at the kitchen "—and promised me you wouldn't leave, and I trusted you. I TRUSTED YOU! Do you know how hard that was for me? And then you…you just left. I asked you to stay, and you didn't even stop to say goodbye—"

"Now hold on! That's not fair, Abby, and you know it. You—"

"You can't have it both ways, Carter! I blamed myself and you got mad. I blamed you and you got mad. And I told you…I warned you that you didn't want to get involved with me, but you wouldn't listen to—"

"I WANTED to be involved! I wanted to help you, but you wouldn't let me!"

"Dammit, John, I didn't want your help. I just wanted YOU!"

There's a pause, and she realizes that this must be what poets mean by 'deafening silence'. Her heart is pounding, chest heaving, mind racing over all she'd just let come pouring out – _oh, holy shit_ – as he slowly sits back down, eyes softer, voice gentle.

"Well, why didn't you just say so?"

**_"But if my silence made you leave,  
then that would be my worst mistake.  
So I will share this room with you,  
and you can have this heart to break_…"**

"I'm sorry."

She whispers it, breaking the quiet, but she knows he heard. He raises his gaze to meet hers, sitting before her.

"It's not…we weren't your fault. I never...I pushed you away, and…it was like we were a time bomb or something. I was just waiting for you to realize you could do better."

"Ab…"

"No, I'm serious. This isn't self-pity, John. This is how I think. You've got to understand that."

He nods slowly. "I don't agree, but I'm…I'm glad I finally know. And I'm sorry too. I should have been more understanding."

She pauses, the question on her mind making her hesitate. He senses this, and motions for her to continue. With a deep breath, she nervously asks, "Did you mean what you said, about our always being wrong for each other?"

He cringes. "No," he sighs, ducking his head.

"That letter…Jesus, Carter. It was like kicking me when I was already down."

"I know…I know. It was…cruel. And wrong. And I'm so sorry. Please…know that." When he looks up, she sees he now has tears in his eyes. "I wanted you to feel…I don't know, some of the pain I did…God, that sounds horrible."

"I understand."

"You shouldn't. It was a terrible thing to do."

"It's okay, Carter. Let's leave it in the past, okay? Move on, put it behind us?"

He nods slightly. "Deal. And…thanks." He pauses, smiles. "You know, it wasn't all that bad, right? I mean, I like to think that there was a little good to 'us' too."

In spite of herself, she finds that she is smiling back. "Yeah. Yeah, there was." She is relaxing slightly, sinking to her side of the couch.

He sighs. "I missed you, you know."

She bites back a snort and a self-deprecating comment laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. Instead, she continues to look at him, waiting for him to go on.

"Even with…even with Kem—" Did he notice her wince at the name?—"she wasn't…well, she wasn't YOU." The last part comes out in a rush, like a long-awaited release. She sees that his eyes have gone sad, although over which memory, she cannot tell.

She cracks a weak grin, tries in vain to lighten the mood. "Well, thank God for that, right?"

A brief smile flits across his face, sad and wishful.

"Never."

_**"And this is why my eyes are closed;  
it's just as well for all I've seen.  
And so it goes, and so it goes,  
and you're the only one who knows…"  
**  
_

"I'm glad you called," he tells her, sincere in the quiet.

He's putting his coat on, preparing to head back home to get what little sleep he can before his shift. She looks on, pondering all that has passed between them, and all that is left to say.

She can't help but feel somewhat relieved, as if the top layers of her heavy load have been lifted.

And she knows that there will be time to deal with everything else later, and that it will all be addressed; it must – too much has already been laid out not to finish the job.

And that's okay by her. Somewhere within, she feels slightly more at peace – not able to rest yet, but getting there.

She sees this in him, too. His eyes, less troubled than they've been in – what? Months? Since before his grandmother died, surely.

Out of habit, she begins to internally chastise herself, heap on the blame for not having been there – but stops herself. She's moving on, growing and changing –and the irony of this realization does not escape her, either.

So instead, she reaches out to squeeze his hand as he turns to leave.

"Me too."

_**"And so it goes, and so it goes,  
and you're the only one who knows."  
**  
_

****

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	4. Take Me Away

Disclaimer: Mine. All mine. Yay me. Only, not.

The song used is 'Take Me Away' by Lifehouse.

Stolen cupcakes to the underachiever making up for lost time who finds the _Scotland__, PA_ shout-out.

A/N: This one's for Meg, my co-conspirator and buddy extraordinaire. I know, I know, you'd think I'd give her something better, but sadly, this is the best I could do. Sorry, dude. But thanks for everything.

And like always, I'll try to get something out sooner. I have an idea for a standalone I'm currently playing with, so we'll see. You know, because I have so much spare time.

Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed. Makes my day!

CHAPTER 4: TAKE ME AWAY

**_"This time, you burn me with your eyes._**

**_You see past all the lies._**

**_You take it all away…"_**

It's strange how things can change in an instant.

She knows this is true – after all, she sees evidence of it almost everyday at work. The entirety of someone's life can be completely altered in a matter of seconds. People die, babies are born.

It took a total of about forty-five seconds for her to become a doctor.

Technically speaking, of course.

All those years of school, the extra nursing shifts to cover tuition, the sleepless nights, exams, boards: the whole mess culminated in a quick movement of the arm as a cloak was draped over her shoulders.

She fingers the edge of the velvet hood slowly, savoring the feel of it, the sound of Carter's voice as he'd called out to her after the ceremony ringing in her ears.

_"Doctor Lockhart!"_

She grins at the memory of his face, taking such pleasure in her accomplishment, proud and beaming at her. She could have sworn she'd heard his cheering over everyone else's when it was finally her turn to walk across the stage.

She's grateful he was there, remembers how he'd had to coax…rather, bribe…her into attending.

_"Why should I go? I'm, like, ten years older than everyone else!"_

_"Because it'll be fun!"___

_"Fun?__ Fun for who, Carter?"_

_"Oh, come on, Abby. It's your graduation!"_

_"That's right, MY graduation. Ergo, MY decision." _But she'd chuckled as she'd said it, slapping his hand away from the last slice of the pizza they were sharing and picking it up herself.

_"Hey, may I remind you who helped you study for your boards? And who spent hours staying after work going over procedures? And who strained his back lugging all his old notes out of the attic for you?" _He'd snatched the pizza from her hand after she'd taken a bite, holding it out of her reach and ignoring her whine.

_"Sounds like a nice guy. You should introduce me sometime."_

_"Pfft. He wishes."_

_"Give me one good reason why I should go." _She'd finally managed to wrench the food away from him, and popped the crust into her mouth with a flourish.

_"Because I asked nicely?"___

_"Ha. Try again."_

_"Um…because if you do, I'll buy you a coffee afterwards?"___

_"Wow, Carter, what an offer. Don't break the bank or anything there."_

He'd snorted with laughter. _"And pie?"_

She'd paused, midway through picking up the empty pizza box, feeling a wave of longing for the past wash over her. Shaking her head before she could lose herself in yesterdays, she'd winked at him, determinedly playful.

_"Coffee and pie, then."  
_

**_"Don't give up on me yet;_**

**_don't_****_ forget who I am._**

**_I know I'm not there yet,_**

**_But don't let me stay here alone…"  
_**

She feels a familiar twinge, and quickly pushes it away. This is her big day, and she's trying hard not to lose sight of that. She's trying to focus on what she's gained today, not what was lost so many months ago.

"Hey." His voice from behind makes her turn from where she's standing by the roof wall, looking out over Chicago.

"Coffee and pie, as promised."

"Good. I was worried I was going to have to hunt you down." She smirks at him, accepting her cup of coffee. He motions for her to join him on the floor, where he has spread the paper bag flat in between them and is placing the two containers of apple pie on top.

"Your graduation dinner, madam."

"Clearly, you paid a lot of attention in Nutrition."

The past few weeks have been good, she muses, swallowing a bite of pie. As hard as it had been, that conversation in her apartment had turned out to be their ticket to getting their friendship back. It had, inevitably, led to more painful talks between them, but with the clarity of hindsight, she sees now that it had all been long overdue.

They're both learning, she knows. She's learning to trust him again, to let him in more than she had in the past. He's working at knowing when to push and when to just wait her out. It's been difficult for both of them, to say the least.

Though well worth it, she's sure.

She sees his face in a series of memories, a flip-book of reactions. Walks on the river, ice cream, coffee and late nights in their respective homes, flashing like photographs in her mind. Him listening to her, watching her face carefully, reading her signals as she talked. The drinking, Richard, Eric and Maggie.

The abortion.

She'd envisioned telling him for years, imagined what she thought was every possible reaction. Apparently, she'd been wrong, because never in her late-night thinking did she picture what had actually happened.

They'd been by the river, talking about Susan, who had finally returned to work after a much-needed vacation. She remembers clearly his asking about what she'd said on the roof that day, and her stopping in her tracks. She remembers sitting down on the bench, thinking that her legs weren't going to hold her anymore, bracing herself to tell him something she'd always really intended to hide. She remembers choking out the words, trying to explain about her failing marriage and Richard and Maggie and some people being wrong for motherhood.

She remembers his hand finding hers in her lap, as she'd stared straight down, lapsing into silence, and he'd looked out over the water.

She remembers him squeezing her fingers, telling her that he was sorry that she'd had to go through that alone.

_"Thank you for trusting me enough to…tell me."_

No anger. No resentment.

Just…Carter.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, watches him take a long drink of coffee, content to enjoy her company in silence for now. He looks good – healthy, happy. It's a stark contrast to the face that had greeted her last week.

She'd been early; they'd made plans to do Chinese take-out and a movie, to celebrate the end of med school and a coordinating night off. So she was surprised when the door opened to reveal Carter hastily scrubbing at his eyes, cheeks red, and the apartment a mess behind him.

_"What happened? What's wrong?" _She'd reached out to touch his arm, instantly concerned. He'd shaken his head, gesturing for her to come in.

_"I just…I was going through some boxes I brought home the other week from Gam…from the mansion…they were letters, from my grandfather. It just…hit me that they're both gone, you know? I mean, I knew…but…Gamma…" _His shoulders had begun to shake, and she'd only just managed to guide him to the couch before his knees gave out. She'd spent the night letting him cry onto her, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her own tears when he talked about his grandmother, how she'd raised him, and how alone he'd felt when she died. He'd clung to her, initially apologizing through his tears for spoiling their evening, until she'd shushed him, and held him through the night.

She'd told him that this is what friends are for.

**_"I've seen it all, and it's never enough – _**

**_it_****_ keeps leaving me needing you…"_**

****

"Penny for your thoughts."

His voice breaks her out of her reverie, and she turns to meet him, warm brown eyes and a lopsided grin.

"Just…life." She says it casually, not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment.

"Care to share with the class?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, I'm good."

"Oh, come on. Don't make me send you to the principal's office. You don't want Weaver to beat you with her cane." He wags a teasing finger at her.

"Ha ha." She stands, suddenly nervous. She'd promised herself that she would be more honest, more open; truth be told, she's been waiting for this moment. Walking back towards the edge of the roof, she pauses, folds her arms, debating the best way to reveal something so personal. It's new territory for her, admittedly, and she's scared.

"Abby?"

_Oh, God._

"I miss you."

Silence.

She continues to stare resolutely out over the city, biting her lip, trying to hold her face still. She's not sure what to think about his lack of reaction, can only come to the conclusion that this was all a big mistake.

She jumps a little as she feels his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. She keeps her eyes fixed on his chest, too out-of-sorts to meet his eyes.

"Abby…I…"

"Look, Carter…John…I just…I'm trying to let you in, you know, and I thought maybe the best way to do that was to just tell you, but if you don't…I completely understand if you—"

"I miss you too."

"You do?" Now she looks up, meets his gaze.

"I do…I have for so long…since I left. I just…I wouldn't be able to take it if we hurt each other like that again…I can't lose you again."

"It'll be different this time."

"How? Tell me how." His face is so open, wanting so badly to believe her. She finds that she doesn't even want to look away. Instead, she grasps his hands and meets his eyes.

"It took losing you to make me stop being afraid of having you in the first place."

He nods slowly, reaching a hand out to caress her cheek. She closes her eyes, reveling in the familiarity of his touch, feeling all her nerves come alive from the spark that, even after all this time apart, they still have.

Slowly, she opens her eyes, and leans in to press her lips to his. He immediately reciprocates, moving his hands to her sides as her fingers reach up to his cheeks. The kiss deepens, although neither is sure who initiated it. She's not sure how much time passes before they break apart. She takes a moment before opening her eyes, savoring the taste of him, the lightheadedness that comes with relief and pure joy.

He grins at her, running his fingers over the velvet hood of her graduation robe.

"Let's get out of here," he murmurs.

She smiles shyly at him, reaches up to press her lips against his once again.

"Sounds good to me."

He stoops to gather the trash from their little picnic, then wraps his free arm around her shoulder.

"What do you say to a real dinner?"

"You paying?"

"I already bought you coffee and pie. What more do you want, woman?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things…" she mumbles into his shoulder, and he laughs, mocking her for her dirty mind as they leave.

Being with him is like coming home.

**_"This time, what I want is you._**

**_There is no one else who can take your place._**

**_I've seen enough, and it's never enough – _**

**_it_****_ keeps leaving me needing you…"_**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!!**


	5. For Crying Out Loud

Disclaimer: Yeah, they're mine. I rule. And by that, I mean I own nothing.

The song used is 'For Crying Out Loud (You Know I Love You)' by Meatloaf.

A/N: I thought I would never have time to sit down and write this chapter, but I finally had a few hours that didn't have to be filled with work, so ha! Thanks to Alex, for her "encouragement"…which very closely resembles nagging. Go figure. But think of it as Chipotle for the soul, babe. ;)

Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed. They make my day!

CHAPTER 4: FOR CRYING OUT LOUD

****

**_"I was lost 'til you were found,_**

**_and_****_ I never knew how far down I was falling_**

**_before_****_ I reached the bottom._**

**_I was cold and you were fire,_**

**_and_****_ I never knew how the pyre could be burning_**

**_on_****_ the edge of the ice field…"_**

****

****

His socks are mixed in with hers.

It's the first thing she notices when she pulls the laundry from the dryer. She cannot remember if she even realized it when she started the wash earlier. But sure enough, there are his shirts, boxers, jeans, all scattered in with her stuff.

She thinks that maybe this should bother her in some respect – after all, what is she, his maid? – but it doesn't. The same way it doesn't bother her when he pours her coffee for her in the morning, always in the blue mug with the moose on it because he once figured out that it's her favorite, or how he turns up the thermostat when he comes home and hears the shower running so she won't be cold when she gets out.

At one point, it would have terrified her, being known so well and cared for so completely. It breeds dependence, and she has always loathed the very idea of it.

Now…well, not so much.

She can't help but smile as she glances at her watch. She's still somewhat surprised at how readily she lets herself need him these days, and at the girlish excitement she feels at the prospect of his being off work in three hours.

Of course, she muses, it has certainly taken her long enough to get to this point. Too much time gone by, too much hurt.

So she's trying her best not to go back. For the both of them. Things are finally good, and she's not willing to lose this. Not again. So she looks forward to their future, and works for that rather than hiding in the past.

She tosses the last of the clothes into her basket, and turns to head back upstairs, flicking the light out on her way.

****

**_"For taking in the rain when I'm feeling so dry,_**

**_for_****_ giving me the answers when I'm asking you why._**

**_My, oh my, for that, I thank you…"_**

****

****

She's folding his t-shirts and listening to the Pixies when the buzzer sounds.

"You left your sweater at work earlier – Carter was worried you might need it." Susan's eyes are bright with laughter as she enters the apartment.

"He made you come all the way over here to bring me a sweater? I have others, you know." Abby grins, taking the garment from her friend and closing the door.

"That's what I told him, but he thought you might want this one today. You've got him very well-trained."

She shakes her head, but she can't help grinning. "He's hopeless."

"Yeah, but you like it."

"Please." But she feels the blush creeping up into her cheeks.

"Ha. Don't even try and deny it, Abby."

"Coffee?" She tries to divert Susan's attention, heading into the kitchen.

"Decaf. And way to change the subject there. Very slick."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really? Let me refresh your memory. Your boyfriend is so whipped—"

"—He is not!"

"Okay, fine, so _enamored_, that he felt you couldn't wait three hours to have this particular sweater returned to you because you just might be unable to bring yourself to wear another one, having gotten your heart set on—"

"—He's just being sweet!"

"Sweet? Abby, Chuck's idea of sweet is leaving me some hot water in the morning. Come on."

"How is Chuck, anyway?" She sits across from her friend at the kitchen table, cradling her mug – the blue one with the moose, of course. She realizes that he must wash it every morning and evening after she uses it, so that it'll be ready for the next pot.

"…and then he tells me how he's always wanted to go hang-gliding…Abby? You okay?"

She shakes her head, startled. "Sorry, Suze…just slipped away for a minute."

"Something the matter?"

She shakes her head, pursing her lips, trying to find the right words to explain that this little gesture is kinder than just about anything anyone has ever done for her. "No, everything's fine. I just…realized that Carter washes my mug everyday."

She doesn't recognize how odd this statement must sound until she hears Susan giggle. "And they say chivalry is dead."

The corners of her mouth turn up as she rolls her eyes. "No! I mean, I have, like, ten other mugs here, but…"

She sees Susan's still laughing, and she waves her hand dismissively. "You know, never mind. So Chuck wants to do what?"

Her friend goes back to the original story, about Chuck and hang-gliding and other brilliant ideas, and even though she's listening, she can't help but stare at the cup in front of her with a hint of a smile.

****

**_"For coming to my room when you know I'm alone,_**

**_for_****_ finding me a freeway and driving me home._**

**_And you got to know, for that, I serve you…"_**

****

****

She's finally gotten the laundry folded, Susan having left to go meet Chuck for dinner about an hour ago. A precariously balanced stack of jeans and shirts is piled in her arms, reaching to her forehead, so she's having to walk carefully, with bumping into furniture as her guide.

She drops the load on the bed, and begins putting the clothes in their respective places. She tugs open the third drawer on the left, deposits his t-shirts. Drawer above it, his boxers and socks. She likes the symmetry – his drawers matching hers on the other side of the bureau.

She wonders when she became such a sap, and thinks it probably came to fruition the day she'd cleared out half of her closet and dresser for him.

He'd come home to find her standing amidst stacks of clothes, with even more covering the bed.

_"Did the closet throw up?" He'd grinned at her from the doorway._

_"You think everything is so funny." She'd glared at him as she climbed over a stack of sweaters to kiss him hello._

_He'd wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "So…what are you doing, anyway?"_

_"Well," she'd said, pulling away and making her way back across the room, "I got tired of tripping over SOMEONE'S bags every morning, so I'm cleaning out some space."_

_He'd chuckled, having found her sprawled on the floor numerous times, claiming that her early-morning, caffeine-deprived state prevented her from seeing his duffels. "So what am I getting – the bottom drawer?"_

_She'd looked up from gathering some hangers in surprise. "Well, I was going to give you half of the dresser and the closet…why? Do you only want one drawer?" Nervous, she'd wondered if she should have asked him beforehand. She'd assumed it would be easier this way, given that they'd been staying at her place since their kiss on the roof so many weeks ago. This was unfamiliar territory to her, being the one to initiate a new step._

_"No…I'm just surprised." He'd looked so pleased that her doubts had been laid to rest immediately. He'd weaved through her piles to reach her and slipped his arms around her once more. "Thank you."_

_She'd grinned into his chest, squeezed him back. "Yeah, well, just don't go thinking I'm doing this for you or anything. This is just so I don't break a leg falling over your cra—"_

_But he'd cut her off with a deep kiss which she'd eagerly reciprocated, and they'd wound up lying on the piles of clothing on the bed and…_

_…yeah.___

Flushed, she checks her watch with renewed interest.

****

**_"For pulling me away, when I'm starting to fall,_**

**_for_****_ revving me up when I'm starting to stall._**

**_And you've got to know, for that, I want you…"_**

****

****

Laundry put away, she wanders into the bathroom, hanging up fresh towels for the both of them.

She pauses at the tub, reaches down to pick up two pillar candles at either end, long burnt out and forgotten.

It had been a particularly frustrating day, and she'd returned home, completely drained.

_"Hey…Susan called, she said you'd had a rough day." He'd greeted her at the door, ready to take her coat._

_"Understatement of the year," she'd muttered, shrugging away his attempts to help._

_"What happened?"_

_"What didn't?" She'd stepped around him, eager for nothing more than a shower and the bed. _

_"Ab…"_

_"Look, Carter, I just…I want to forget about today, alright?"_

_He'd raised his hands in defense. "Okay."_

_She'd nodded, making her way through the living room and the bedroom, ducking into the bathroom…_

_…to find a steaming bath already drawn, her pajama pants and a tank top folded on the counter, and two candles, flickering softly, on the floor by the tub._

_"Carter—" She'd turned and run straight into his chest. _

_"Yeah, I just thought—"_

_"—you are amazing."_

_He'd laughed at that, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I just thought you might need something to help you relax after such a long day, so when Susan called...anyway, don't let it get cold."_

_"John…" She'd been at a complete loss, close to tears, so touched at his kindness. He'd smiled down, seen the look on her face, and hugged her._

_"It's okay…"_

_She'd shaken her head against him. "It's not okay…it's not fair for me to come home and take out my bad day on you. I'm sorry…"_

_He'd held her tighter. "It happens to the best of us. Now come on…are you going to let all my hard work go to waste? The water's getting cold."_

_She'd begun to undress, and he'd moved towards the door before she stopped him with a hand on his arm._

_"Hey."_

_He'd turned. "Yeah?"_

_She'd given him a lopsided grin that smote his heart, and a slight nod towards the bathtub. "Join me?"_

****

****

**_"For taking and for giving and for playing the game,_**

**_for_****_ praying for my future in the days that remain._**

**_Oh, Lord, for that, I hold you…"_**

****

****

She collapses on the couch, simultaneously reaching for the remote and a medical journal lying on the end table, sinking back into the cushions with a sigh.

She jerks awake at the sound of a key in the door, unaware that she'd dozed off. Running a hand through her hair, she turns around with a smile as the door opens.

"Hey..." she calls as he enters, dropping his bag by the door.

"Nice hair," is his reply, as he hangs up his coat and comes over to kiss her.

She rabbit-punches his arm as he pulls away. "Thanks. How was work?"

His groan comes from the kitchen, as she hears him pulling out the milk.

"That good, huh?" She goes in to meet him, propping herself against the doorframe.

He makes a face over the top of his glass. "Yeah, if by good you mean completely insane."

She snickers, reaching up to flatten his own messy hair as he drinks. It is being able to do these little things that reaffirms her decision to move on.

With him, of course. Always with him.

Straightening his hair. Kissing him. Laughing with him. Holding his hand when they walk. Sneaking moments together during their shifts.

She is in love with being in love, with knowing that even when her smile fades, it will come back.

"Sorry to hear that. Everything okay?" Satisfied with her handiwork, she steps back, leaning against the table.

He nods, putting his glass in the sink. "Yeah, just incredibly busy. And all I wanted was to come home to you."

Home.

She can't help but smile whenever he calls this little apartment home. And truth be told, she's found herself again thinking of it as their place as opposed to just hers.

And it thrills her to no end that this doesn't scare her anymore.

"Did Susan bring your sweater by?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah. You know, I do have a closet full of warm clothing. This being Chicago and all."

He ducks his head, and she could swear that he's blushing. "Yeah, I know…but since you'd picked that one out this morning…"

He trails off and gives a little shrug and a crooked smile which makes her fall for him all over again.

She reaches up to press her lips to his. "But I appreciated the thought."

This appeases him, and he leans down to claim another kiss from her. As he pulls away, he asks, "Is it pathetic that I missed you today? I mean, for the six hours that I was still there after you left?"

She laughs out loud at this, remembering her frequent watch checks throughout the day.

And she's grateful, so thankful for this, for all of this – for him, for being here with him, for feeling safe and peaceful and content in her own life.

"Completely pathetic. But you know what?"

"What?"

She leans in to whisper in his ear, her smile broadening.

"I missed you too."

****

****

**_"But most of all, for crying out loud, for that I love you…_**

**_When you're crying out loud, _**

**_you_****_ know I love you."_**

****

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	6. Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

Disclaimer: All mine. Go me! (Except…not.)

The song used is 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy' by Sarah McLachlan.

A/N: Allo? Remember me? Probably not, but I apologize anyway. I have this little affliction to deal with known as a thesis, and it's sort of taken over my life.

To my favorite twelve-across-six-letter-word-for-buddy, Meg: thanks for the help. I'll be your sixth wheel any day, tater.

To everyone who reviewed, thank you so much. I'm sorry this has taken so long. As always, I'll try to do better.

CHAPTER 6: FUMBLING TOWARDS ECSTASY

**o-o-o-o-o**

**"All the fear has left me now.**

**I'm not frightened anymore.**

**It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh;**

**it's my mouth that pushes out this breath…"**

**o-o-o-o-o**

_She slowly makes her way down the steps onto the patio, following the sound of laughter. Rounding the corner, she smiles at the scene in front of her. _

_The little girl bounces in her father's arms, her red swimsuit standing out against the blue of the water, the green of the garden behind them. Her arms wave as she greets her mother. The man holding her turns, smiling, beckons her to join them._

_"Mommy, watch! I can water-ski!"_

_Her husband throws her a wink, as he bends his knees, their daughter standing on top of them. _

_"Ready, Maddy?"_

_The little girl grins and nods, leaning back and extending her arms, holding her father's hands so that she is braced out away from him. _

_With a shriek of laughter from her, and a puttering noise from him, the pair begins to move around the pool, he taking small, careful steps backwards, while the "skier" calls out for him to go faster._

_She grins at the sight, and turns to go back to the house._

_"Abby!"_

_"What?"_

_Despite his daughter's protests at the break in action, he pauses to give her that slow, achingly sexy smile that she fell in love with so many years ago._

_"Stay."_

_She pretends to think about it for a moment before giving in, reaching out to take the little girl as she eases into the water…_

The buzzing of the alarm startles her out of her dream, much to her disappointment. She squints as the morning Chicago light winds its way around the curtains behind the bed, and swipes at the window, attempting to block the light. She finally settles on throwing an arm over her face and rolling over, groaning.

"Carter…"

"Mmm?"

He stirs next to her, burying his head deeper into the pillow without opening his eyes.

"John…"

"Hmm?"

"The alarm."

This time, the only response is a muffled "mmph," so with an enormous early-morning effort, she reaches across him and slams the power button. It's their day off, after all. The damn thing never should've been set in the first place.

Some old habits do die hard, she supposes.

Shutting her eyes once more, she finds his neck with her lips, and drifts back to sleep.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**"And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it.**

**I won't fear love.**

**And if I feel a rage, I won't deny it.**

**I won't fear love…"**

**o-o-o-o-o**

She was always a restless sleeper. As a child, she had to stay near wakefulness, for Eric's sake. There was no telling when Maggie would burst into their rooms, or what her mission would be when she did. It was always a toss-up; would she want to bake cookies, or would she be drunk and raging, a knife and bottle in hand?

So it was best to stay on guard, able to wake up and deal with things immediately. Best not to get too comfortable.

Lately, though, she's found herself sleeping through the night. At first, she was tossing around less, but then one morning she found herself in the same position from the night before, the sheets smooth over her, heartbeat slow, breathing even.

And him next to her, of course.

Now that's a regular occurrence. She knows he's noticed it too, but neither has said anything, not exactly. He once commented on the lack of bruises on his legs, said that he was glad she'd stopped practicing her punt on his shins, and she'd playfully asked him if he was also enjoying the lack of cover stealing. But for the most part, it remained one of those things that they both silently understood to be a step in the right direction.

There had been more and more of those steps over the past few months. He'd begun asking for her opinion about foundation plans. She'd come to him with concerns about Eric moving back to Florida.

Now, she opens her eyes and is met with a familiar sight, but one that never fails to make her smile.

For as long as she's shared a bed with him, he's been a deep sleeper. His features relaxed, hair tousled, sleep always seemed to set him back a few years.

Before, the first time they were together, when her recurring insomnia often drove her from their bed, he would sometimes wake as well and seek her out. Usually he would find her on the couch, chain-smoking and reading or taking in late-night infomercials. He'd settle down beside her with a yawn and fall back asleep while she sat, still awake, waiting for morning.

She can't say she misses those times. Because, really, it's much nicer to just sleep next to him.

She moves closer under the sheets, kissing his chest, neck. The corners of his mouth turn up, telling her that he's conscious.

"Hello…" His voice is raspy with sleep.

She grins. "Are you awake?"

He nods against the pillow, eyes still closed.

"Uh huh. Come on, wake up."

"Since when are you such a morning person?"

She pushes her hair out of her face, looks over him to the clock.

"Hardly 'morning', Carter…it's almost noon."

He snorts. "That's what days off are for. Come on."

She gives an exasperated sigh, and so he opens his eyes, to find her shooting him a good-natured glare.

"Indolent," she taunts.

"Neurotic."

"Somnolent."

"Obsessive."

She laughs at this. "That's really the best you can do? All those years of private school, and all you can come up with is 'obsessive'? That's just sad, Carter."

"Hey, you're the one who studied English lit, you walking thesaurus."

This earns him a groan and a poke in the ribs, at which he clutches his side in mock agony. "What happened to 'First, do no harm', woman?"

"You know, that's not actually in the Hippocratic Oath."

"Trust you to know that."

This time, it is she who laughs, and as a reflex, he reaches out to her, only to find that she's already there, curled up against him, and they both wonder when it became this easy.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**"Peace in the struggle to find peace,**

**comfort on the way to find comfort…"**

**o-o-o-o-o**

In keeping with her – albeit former – inability to sleep soundly, she's never been one to just lie around. There's always been something to take care of: errands to run, bills to pay, laundry, dishes, Eric, homework, shifts, AA meetings.

But today, even if any of those need to be dealt with, she's not paying attention.

Lying on her side, with him leaning over her, they're equally concentrated on the crossword puzzle in the paper that she'd brought, when the need for coffee had driven her from the bed. He reaches across to her bedside table for the mug they're sharing, taking a long gulp and wordlessly offering it to her.

She shakes her head no, and goes back to number fourteen across. Four letters, 'to endure or persist, to wait'.

"Stay."

She looks up. "What?"

"Fourteen across. Stay."

She blinks at him, her mind racing back to her dream, the pool, the little girl. _"Stay"_...

"Abby? You alright?"

She shakes her head, snapping herself back to the present. "Yeah, of course. Nice job," she tells him, filling in the answer quickly, still somewhat surprised.

As he reaches back around her, she unconsciously eases back in his embrace. Realizing this, she glances down at their bodies, at how naturally his arm rests in the curve of her waist, at how his hand splays comfortably across her stomach.

In that moment, she decides that there might be something to all this comfort and peace after all, and that maybe it's time she took another risk, that maybe there's a reason they've never been able to stay apart from each other. That they fit together this way, so naturally.

"Carter?"

"Hmm?" He's still reading over her shoulder, blissful, unaware. Taking a deep breath, she gathers her nerve, and leaps, hoping he'll catch her.

"Marry me?"

She feels him freeze against her. "Wha…what?" His voice is almost a whisper, timid, as if he's scared that he's misunderstood her.

She rolls over onto her back, knocking the paper to the floor. Looking up at him, she sees his eyes are wide, shocked.

Shocked…but still warm, exuberant, giving her the encouragement to repeat herself with greater conviction. Her voice gentle, perhaps even slightly playful,

"Marry me."

A smile slowly spreads across his face, as he takes in what she's said. She reciprocates his joy, a matching grin lighting her features.

He leans down to kiss her softly, to whisper against her mouth,

"Yes."

**o-o-o-o-o**

**"And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it.**

**I won't fear love.**

**And if I feel a rage, I won't deny it.**

**I won't fear love.**

**I won't fear love."**

**o-o-o-o-o**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


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